


Keys to the Kingdom

by UglyWettieWrites



Series: Keys to the Kingdom [1]
Category: Aiden Hoynes - Fandom, The Politician's Husband
Genre: Aiden gets his groove back, Dominance, Erotica, F/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Open Relationships, Voyeurism, contemplative jerking, lingerie fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 06:17:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9806831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UglyWettieWrites/pseuds/UglyWettieWrites
Summary: His wife bested him, and won. But will he stay down?





	

10 Downing Street. 23:24

The new nanny laughed brassily, something he had convinced himself she had been programmed not to do. She was lovely – good skin, lush curves that she concealed badly in the required three piece uniform suit. It was plain, but it was tailored.

A good tailor could never bring themselves to hide beauty.

She put down her glass of white wine and stood up.

“May I take my leave?”

He nodded. “Of course! It’s getting late. Thanks again for the company. It’s surprising how quiet things can get here sometimes.”

“Thank you for the drink, and the conversation, sir. I will see you tomorrow.”

He loosened his tie, frustrated. Ever since Freya had won, he’d had nothing to do but wait. And watch, which was worse. Worst of all, he had to do it all alone. The new nanny had, surprisingly enough, been a welcome respite from the doldrums. He didn’t know whether it was a foregone conclusion – silly, crass – or whether there was something to her.

_She is a nanny. [with a law degree, who practices kenjutsu in her spare time, how ludicrously alluring.]_

Freya was more that her, this he knew. At least, he thought so. But she’d been unreachable for a very long time. They were bound by mutual lust and rage, which was more than enough in this world. The sex remained good. They fucked almost every night she was there.

 _Good_. Why did the idea depress him?

As she walked to the door, her hips moved in ever widening figure eights that caught his eye.

His breath caught in his throat.

_A lawyer, like me. Gone to Oxford, but much later. Who could kill a man with a broom stick. Why was she a nanny, for Chrissake?_

“Wait.”

She turned, a formal about face. His mouth twisted with confusion.

“Yes, sir?”

He took a step. Then more long, jerking ones, until he was in front of her. She looked straight ahead, at his chest. This close, he could smell the wine on her, its fumes cut by her scent. Flesh and violets.

“Ms. Avellano?” His voice sounded alien to him.

“Yes?”

He noticed his fists were clenched at his sides. He relaxed his hands, staring at the thinnest line of glossy scalp in her neatly chignoned hair. He had a sudden urge to lick it. His eyes ached.

“Will that be all, sir?” she asked, her voice inscrutable. “If so, I must be-”

“ _Will that be all,_ ” he mimicked, surprising himself. “Is this to your liking, _sir_ ,” he said, pacing around the private sitting room. “Would you like me to do it slower? _sir_.”

Her brow furrowed, but she did not move. She had not been dismissed.

“Look at me, Ms. Avellano.”

Her face tipped up slowly. Her dark eyes made his belly flutter, and it made him angry.

“What is your first name? I never thought to ask.”

“Carolina,” she said, pronouncing it Ca-ro- _lee_ -na.

“Carolina.” He caressed her cheek, slowly, then sunk his fingers into her chignon and pulled. Bobby pins clicked on the Persian carpet. She gasped, but surprisingly, it didn’t break her gaze. He raked until her hair was free.

It fell to her waist in tangled waves.

He walked around her, hissing when a pin dug into his naked heel. Her breath was slow and deep.

_This woman could drop me and pin me in 5 seconds flat._

She’d said it in one of their conversations, and he believed her. He observed her steady hand with Noah, who, astonishingly, trusted her after only a couple of weeks. She made Ruby happy enough that portraits of her festooned the nursery.

_And she was a summa cum laude. In law. Like me, not Freya. She had not studied law, and yet…_

He touched her hair. Its warm silkiness made something underneath the surface of him drop and heave. Gentle fingers at the nape of her neck turned into a fist.

She cried out, but her hands remained at her side, even as he pulled her toward his chest.

“What was that walk?”

“Sir?” Her eyes shone with tears of pain.

“Your hips. You were fanning your scent to me. Reached me at the other side of the room.”

His gaze moved over her body openly for the first time. Her breasts strained the buttons of her shirt. Her tongue darted out of her mouth and touched the center of her upper lip. A split second, and he was bested.

He crushed his mouth into hers. He wanted to smudge her perfectly painted lips, suck on her wine-sour saliva. She let him kiss her, but she did not kiss back.

He tugged at the fistful of hair. She moaned.

“Oxford,” he said, spitting the word out. “Whore.”

Her eyes stared at the ceiling. Her lips were bruised, her chin pink with friction from his stubble. He was getting perplexed.

 _What were those hips?_ He had read desire, but she was impassive.

“I call the fucking PM by her first name. Who are _you_?” A tear dripped from her cheek and wet his wrist. “Who the fuck are you?”

Silence.

“You want to be quiet, then? I see,” He pulled up her skirt. The lining tore as he slid his hands in her panties.

He gave her a mirthless grin, then he waved his soaked fingers in front of her face.

“As my low rent auntie used to say, your roots are showing.”

He stared at his fingers. They still tingled with her heat. She was throbbing. Now he was actually mystified.

Outwardly, she was reacting like she had been trained - impassive, wall-eyed. He just didn’t know whether it’s what he wanted anymore.

Freya had taught him exactly how to pull hair. In fact, she had taught him many things. How to endure, and glean endless pleasure from it. But he had never been the giver.

_Carolina. A smart woman._

His nostrils twitched at her musk. It was straightforward, full on and uncut by perfume. Freya was far away. But her grasp far exceeded her reach.

His cock stretched the front of his pants, ached in a new way. He hadn’t been tempted by another woman in years – he thought men who fell were lesser than him.

She let out a sobbing sigh. Her mascara ran.

“Who are you?” he whispered one more time.

Her eyes rolled to meet his gaze. Wet, but on fire.

This is who she was. The conversation had merely been extended foreplay.

So different from Freya. But…

He let her go and she gasped and massaged her scalp. She did not try to leave. It gave him courage.

“Take off your clothes.”

She didn’t move. Without thought, he slapped her, hard. She hissed.

“Now.”

She unbuttoned her vest, then her shirt. There was dark blue lace and satin underneath, a complex cage molding her breasts.

She was full of surprises.

She unzipped her skirt and it fell to the floor. She was in bra and stockings.

“Nude. Go on.”

She unhooked her bra, stepped out of her panties. She was about to roll down her stockings when his hand shot up.

“Keep them on.”

“But, sir, they’ll-”

He slapped her again, on her other cheek. Now her whole face was crimson. He grabbed a fistful of hair and kissed her again, pushing her against the door. He bit her fat lower lip and ground his hips against her. Again, she did not kiss him back.

Again, he reached between her legs and came up with his fingers glossy, streaked with her hot, clear wetness.

His mouth watered at it, at her, but still he wiped his hand on her chest. He let her go.

“This is the way it’s going to go. You may leave if you want, but if you do, you must not tell anyone what happened in this room tonight. If you do, you can believe that I will have all the demons of hell to come down on your ass for your indiscretion. If you choose to stay in this room, you will not speak. Not one word, or I will stop. There will be no safe word, as I will not touch you any further. Is that clear?”

She nodded. He waited for her to pick up her clothes and skitter out, but she stood, head down, waiting.

He sat on the love seat by the fireplace and unzipped. His cock popped out of his pants he was so hard.

She saw, and made a sound. A soft whimper.

“Come here.”

She walked over and dropped to her knees. Her bouncing breasts made him twitch, but he did not touch. Her eyes were glued to his cock. Her lips parted. Her tongue shone, drowning in hungry saliva.

She wanted to taste. To suck him [like Freya never did.]

He unbuttoned the bottom two buttons of his dress shirt, exposing smooth belly, then unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down just enough to fully expose himself.

She sighed. Her lower lip trembled.

He ran his finger up the underside of his cock, up past the silky skin to the crown. He wept precum down his shaft.

She licked her lips.

He pulled down gently on his foreskin, completely exposing the glossy darkening head of his cock. He was wet. He rubbed this thumb on the crown, spreading it around. He was so focused on her that the sensation was far away – he got more pleasure from her reaction.

Her nostrils reddened. She could smell him. Her arms were stiff at her sides.

“Be perfectly still, Ms. Avellano,” he said, and caressed her lower lip, tracing it slowly with that thumb, then the top, lingering on her cupid’s bow. “Don’t move a muscle.”

He slid his thumb in her mouth. It was delicious. His cock twitched with the sensation. She saw, and tried to suck. He withdrew and slapped her mouth, just enough to sting.

“No! That’s the third time you’ve disobeyed me. There will not be another. Do you understand?”

She nodded. Her lips relaxed immediately. He did it again, resting the pad of his thumb on her tongue and caressing her chin with his remaining fingers.

“Now watch.” He played lightly with his tightening balls, looking at her body. Her nipples were dark and plump. His mouth watered. He wrapped his hand around himself and moved it up slowly, then down again.

Her felt her mouth filling.

He lightly caressed his shaft, little overlapping touches that made his cock seep precum. Her expression was one of pure pain. Her dark hair covered her shoulders like a mantilla.

Goya, eat your heart out.

His thumb was drowning. He pulled her face forward, tipping it gently over his cock. Saliva dripped freely on him, making him gasp with its heat. He began to stroke, full fisted and eager. The only sounds in the room were that of his fist and their shared breathing. He took his thumb out of her mouth.

“Stand up!”

She obeyed without hesitation.

“Show it to me.”

She lifted her foot and put it on the arm of the seat, spreading wide for balance. Her stockings, which had not been lace tops, drooped around her smooth calves. Her legs were golden in a chiaroscuro mist, regulation stockings - but it was not regulation they be silk.

He stared at her pussy. Her thighs, strong from training [she had pinned men there, many men but not him] were glossy with her wetness. Her scent came over him, a maddening fog of musk so unlike violets. It was delicious, ill-advised college trysts in his dad’s Skoda, secretive smiles that lead to getting jacked off underneath a blanket while punting. It was warm beer, cold vodka and laughing so hard his belly muscles ached for days. Ambition. Having the strength, the confidence for passion.

It was a window.

She bit her lower lip as she watched him. He had gone away for a bit, the angry look on his face giving way to a peace she had never seen – not even in the papers before he had given up being a minister. She hoped it was a good sign, because she wanted him. Had wanted him since the papers. He had thought him brave, and been surprised how the Prime Minister – how his wife had steamrolled him.

Now that she was there, in the boiling cauldron, she knew better. Aiden was many things, but passive was not one of them. Their’s was a chess game at an impasse, frozen until each figured out the next move.

For now, Freya had won. But she knew him better than to think that it was over. That is why he was there. Why they attended functions hand in hand, and why they were now know as the “Cast-Iron Couple.”

Cast iron rusts. She hoped it would.

He started to pant. He was indescribably lovely – pink cheeked with passion, belly still shiny with her saliva. He leaned forward, just inches from her. His hand moved over himself not to tease her, but to please himself. He smelled her, a deep breath, then a whimper. He was eager, and nearly done. She moved forward, spreading herself, pinching her swollen clit between her fingers. He looked up, and their eyes met.

It was all he needed.

“Down on your knees, now!”

She moved quickly, knowing well what happened next. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her near, his other hand moving fast over himself.

“Now. Open.” She opened her mouth, her eyes half closed. Her lashes cast long shadows on her cheeks.   Hair stuck to her neck and cheeks with sweat. She licked her lips and nodded.

 _Please_ she mouthed.

Please. It was word he hadn’t heard from a woman’s lips in ages. Not with that level of earnestness.

His belly tightened. She opened wider. He was coming and his aim wasn’t good,  so the first spurt went over her shoulder and onto the floor. He moved her head and covered her pretty face with it, but in one final act of cruelty, none in her mouth.

He threw his head back and smiled, the sure, one-sided smirk he hadn’t smiled since before Downing Street. He took a deep breath. The air there was finally sweet.

When he opened his eyes she was no longer in front of him. She was on all fours, with her back turned to him. Completely exposed. Her wetness had grown lavish with the taste of him, and clear rivulets of it covered the insides of her thighs to the knee. Her stockings were wet with it. She pulsed in front of him, for him, as her head bobbed by the floor. He walked around.

She was licking him off the parquet, eyes closed, tongue lapping up every drop from the polished wood.

“Bloody hell,” he said. Greedy slut. It had been so long, so long. She rested comfortably in his shadow, her body a writhing, trembling thing. All for him.

_But her baccalaureate had been in international affairs. And she is a lawyer. Who can wield a sword with lethal ease._

He watched, let her finish. The rest of him mixed with the sweat and saliva on her face, or dried in her hair. He didn’t speak, just helped her up. Pressed her close.

Her proximity made the hairs on his arms stand on end – she was _powerful_. Right then he decided the night was not over. Oh no. His thoughts moved quick as they once had, before Freya had muddied them. He would know more about this woman, and this sensation.

After eating a year’s worth of shit, he had finally found the keys to the kingdom.

He would use them.

* * *

 

The phone rang once before he could snatch it silent.

“Darling, how are you?” Her voice was smooth, calm.

“Good. Tired.”

“How are the children? Is Noah adjusting well to his new teachers?”

“It looks like it. He’s slowly beginning to take down his maps. It’s a miraculous sight, to be honest. Would it be weird to say I almost miss them? He is growing up.”

“And Ruby?”

“A gleaming jewel. She misses you, sends you kisses.”

Carolina stirred beside him, bruised and dreaming. He caressed the welts on her back, then dared to kiss her face.

“Can’t sleep, darling? I know it’s late at home. Here, it’s barely evening.”

“Just been…thinking. I’ll sleep just fine.”

“The stylist will be here any minute with my dress and things. I just wanted to check in, see how everyone is doing. Call me tomorrow.”

“Of course, darling. Good luck tonight. I heard the President is a stone-cold bitch.”

“Watch yourself. The walls have ears,” she joked, but not really. “I need to lay it on thick to get the sanctions on Iraq that we need to stop this never-ending conflict.”

“I retract my previous statement. She is the paragon of womanhood.”

“Until later. Kisses to all.”He was about to hang up- “Darling! Wait!”

He put the phone to his ear.“Yes?”

“This is the reason I called, silly me. The children like Ms. Avellano?”

“Noah trusts her. Ruby loves her.”

_I just fucked her. Twice. Until she screamed my name to the soundproofed walls._

“Wonderful! She phoned me, just a couple of hours ago. Said that after a long consideration, she has decided to stay with us.”

“What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you know? When I chose her from the two foot stack of qualified applicants, she told me that she could only stay a year. Something about an internship in Spain, diplomatic blah-di-blah. The children fell so hopelessly in love with her in their initial play date I didn’t have the heart to pick another. But she’s staying! What a relief.”

“Okay. That’s good. Noah won’t be upset by her departure.”

“Of course. I must be going now, for real this time. Good night.”

“Good night.”

She hung up and put her phone down slowly. Her face was suddenly grave.

“Is everything okay, Prime Minister? Is it Noah?” her chief of staff’s beautiful face crinkled with concern.

_She’s in play. I can hear it in his voice. Postcoital indolence._

“Everything is fine. Better than fine. Brilliant.”

Her smile, though wide, was not warm.


End file.
